Early morning painted the mountain peaks with pale golden rays, but in the valley, a cold twilight still reigned. John and Lewis, burning with curiosity, stood at the edge of the village, their breath swirling in the frosty air. The mystery partially revealed by the Elder gave them no peace, and they decided to set off immediately to search for the enigmatic temple while the Elder remained in restless sleep and no one stopped them. Backpacks, heavy with supplies, water, and weapons, pressed on their shoulders, and the straps dug into their skin, smelling of dust and sweat. The wind brought the scent of pines and damp earth, and the distant ringing of yak bells echoed from the cliffs. They exchanged glances, feeling resolve mix with slight anxiety, and quickly stepped onto the road leading into the mountains.
The route was planned with John's engineering precision. He held in his hands the paper map that Anders had given them at parting. The map was covered with enigmatic markings, and its edges were slightly frayed from the wind. The Elder had warned: the trail was not for casual travelers. It hid somewhere deep in the mountains, among dense forests and steep slopes, where stones crumbled underfoot, and the air grew thinner. Lewis, accustomed to the chaos of war zones, felt his intuition suggesting: this road hid more than it seemed. They walked in silence, only the crunch of gravel under their boots and the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the quiet. The mountains loomed above them, their jagged peaks, shrouded in mist, seemed like guardians protecting the mystery.
From time to time, the friends stopped to survey the terrain. Around them stretched valleys, where grass swayed like a green sea, and distant rivers tinkled, rolling stones. The air was fresh, with a hint of pine needles and wet moss, but the silence seemed too deep, almost unnatural. The mountains, like the village, were majestic and untamed, their slopes bearing traces of ancient winds and rains. John and Lewis couldn't help but admire the landscapes, stopping now and then to look around: rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds painted the cliffs in warm tones, and nothing betrayed the presence of humans in this realm of nature.
"I didn't think Tibet was this quiet," Lewis said, his voice sounding muffled as he examined the forest trail, where branches caught on his jacket.
"Yes, this place is like it forgot about the outside world," John replied, adjusting his backpack.
They continued their journey, pressing deeper into the mountains. The trail grew narrower, stones underfoot crumbled, forcing Lewis to grab onto rough tree trunks to keep his balance. John walked ahead, his gaze sliding over the map, his breathing growing heavier from the thin air.
As they climbed, the forest grew denser, and the air colder, saturated with the smell of damp moss and pine needles. The friends noticed that signs of human life were still absent: no paths, no fire pits, no broken branches. Even animals seemed to avoid these places—no rustle of squirrels, no hoofprints on the soft ground. The silence became almost tangible, oppressive, like before a storm. John stopped, his boots crunching on the stones, and he unfolded the map, crackling from morning dew.
"It seems we're already close to the goal," he said, his voice firm but with a slight tremor.
"The Elder said the path is hidden. Maybe it's among these trees."
Lewis nodded, his gaze scanning the dense thickets, where shadows of branches wove intricate patterns. He felt that as they climbed, the cold grew stronger, seeping under his jacket, making the ascent harder.
Soon their efforts were rewarded. Among the thick vegetation, where moss covered stones and tree roots protruded from the ground like veins, they noticed a barely discernible path.
It was almost invisible, overgrown with grass and strewn with fallen needles, but it stood out—narrow, winding, as if deliberately hidden from view. Lewis crouched, running his fingers over the ground, and seemed to feel the cold soil holding the faint imprint of someone's steps, long erased by time. John stood nearby, his breath forming clouds in the frosty air, his eyes carefully studying the trail leading deeper into the forest. They exchanged glances, and in their looks was a mix of resolve and anxiety.
The friends moved along the trail cautiously, as if each step could disturb the fragile balance of this ancient place. The forest around thickened, pine branches intertwined overhead, blocking sunlight, and only rare rays broke through, casting patches of light on the damp ground. The air was cold, saturated with the smell of moss and rotting leaves, and the silence so dense that the rustle of their boots on stones seemed loud as a gunshot. The trail, barely noticeable among the thickets, wound between trees and was masterfully hidden from view. From the air, it was impossible to spot—the dense foliage and cliffs created natural camouflage, and from other sides of the mountains, it seemed merely a shadow among the stones. John stopped to check the map, its edges crackling from the cold. He felt the cold wind seeping under his jacket, while Lewis, standing nearby, scanned the terrain. His gaze caught every suspicious bend in the trail. The silence around was almost tangible, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of a mountain river, its sound carrying like an echo from another world.
But the farther they went, the more often they found traces of bygone times. Here, by an extinguished fire pit surrounded by charred stones, lay coals covered with a gray coating, as if untouched for decades. The air smelled of dampness, and the ground beneath their feet held barely noticeable footprints. Lewis crouched, running his fingers over the cold stones, and felt time seem to thicken around him. Off to the side, they found remnants of an old camp—a rusty spear tip, its shaft broken and crumbling even at a light touch, and remnants of utensils covered with lichen. These finds were so fragile they turned to dust under their fingers, but their age raised questions. John picked up one of the fragments—judging by it, it was once a food basket—and thoughtfully turned it in his hands, listening to the creak of cracked wood.
Lewis carefully lifted an object overgrown with lichen—an old tip of an ancient spear, its blade covered with patterns barely discernible under the crust of time. The metal was cold, almost icy, and its engravings hinted at symbols unlike anything familiar. This was not the work of the local residents—the patterns seemed to suggest a civilization long vanished. He handed the fragment to John, whose fingers, accustomed to precise tools, gently touched the find.
"It's very old," Lewis said, his voice quiet but filled with excitement. "I wonder how many generations passed along this trail?"
"It seems this path has been part of a ritual or tradition for millennia," John replied, examining the object in the dim light filtering through the branches. "But one thing is clear—no one has passed this way in a long time."
They exchanged glances, feeling the find added weight to their mission. The trail led to something greater and more significant than just the mystery of a village lost in the mountains.
By the end of the day, when the sun dipped toward the horizon and the shadows of the trees lengthened, exhausted, they reached a narrow crevice. It appeared suddenly, as if the mountain parted, revealing its secret. Cliffs, covered with moss and cracks, towered on both sides, and a cold wind blowing from the depths carried the smell of dampness and stone. The crevice was so narrow that two people could barely pass side by side, and its dark walls seemed to absorb light. Lewis felt the cold seeping under his clothes, and John, standing nearby, gripped the map, his breath forming clouds in the evening air. They stood before the entrance, and the silence around became almost deafening, with only the distant rustle of leaves reminding them of the world behind them.
Lewis turned to John, his eyes gleaming in the twilight, reflecting the last rays of the sun.
"We probably won't be able to return so easily if we decide to enter," he said, his voice hoarse but filled with resolve. He adjusted his backpack, feeling its weight pressing on his shoulders.
"We need to find out what's there," John replied, his voice sounding firm as steel, though a slight tremor in his hands betrayed tension. "We've come too far to just stop. I want to know what's there."
With these words, they stepped into the crevice, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Darkness closed behind them, and only the faint light of the moon filtering from above illuminated the narrow path leading into the unknown.